Anything But

Not all love stories are great novels, as far as I'm concerned. Now, I'm not saying they're not great, because all love is. But I mean, not all love reaches the epic proportions of after years of secretly being in love with your best friend and then getting together and realising he or she had felt the same way about you all along. Not all love is like breaking up, then after a chance meeting, understanding that they'll always be the one for you. Some love is simple. Our love was anything but.

Break up, get back together, break up, get back together. It was a never ending cycle. It was her fault, then my fault, then her fault again. It's like there's this invisible rope that I'm holding onto, and I just can't let go. I want to, but I can't let go. I don't have the strength to let go. Or more like, I'm dangling off a cliff holding onto this rope, and she's standing on the edge, preventing me from falling down into the canyon. Metaphorically speaking. It's let go and die, or keep hold and live. I live without her nine months a year. The time I do see her is amazing. The time I stay away is hell. Petra Richards has never been one to keep her troubles to herself. While I suffer in silence, she's right there tellng me exactly what's on her mind. Problems with the relationship? Don't worry cause she'll let you know. Problems with her friends? Heard all of them under the sun. Problems with her band? They couldn't come off as endeared once she's dragged them through the mud. Problems with herself? More than you could imagine. The thing that surprises me constantly about Petra, is how little her self confidence is, when she mouths off like a banshee and performs all the time in front of kids just about her age. She's a shy little thing at times, and she's got the self esteem of a bat. Not like, she hides away from everyone like bats do, but bats are ugly creatures and that's what she thinks she is. An ugly creature.

She's everything but. Smart? Yes. Laidback? Yes. The kind of drop dead gorgeous where guys stare and girls are jealous? Yes. She's got everything. She oozes charm, charisma. She can keep you captivated. And once she smiles, you'll do just about anything for her. I was a sucker for pretty eyes and a matching smile. The self-righteous attitude was the part of the package I'd rather not have. Today, I was copping a mouthful.

"So, Kennedy. Let me get this 100%, absolutely positively correct. She messaged you, to catch up, even though she told you she wants nothing to do with you, just because? It seems to me that it's a rather good example of a moron at their finest if she's gone back on her word..." Petra had discovered a text message from my ex on my phone. Well, she hadn't discovered, per say. Someone had let it slip that Ellie, my former girlfriend who I'd dated for three years had texted and called me. She was the kind of ex where you once had that kind of epic love with. The kind of ex, every other girl after her is jealous of. Petra being the best example. At 19, she was only a child still, but I couldn't talk. The only thing grown up about me was the fact that I could legally buy alcohol and go to bars and nightclubs. But epic love doesn't last and sometimes a newer, better, more epic than any kind before it love comes along. Petra was this newer, better, more epic than any kind before it love.

"I didn't reply, if it makes you feel better Petra." I sighed, knowing full well that this would lead to three days of silent treatment, one day of subtle text messaging and then a kiss and make out session in a dressing room or bus. She glared at me.

"That's not what Pat said!" Petra snapped. Pat was now on my hit list ten fold. Once I'd got him the first time, I'd then bring him back to life to kill him another nine times. "Pat said to me that she called you because you didn't reply."

I decided to keep silent. Silence is the best way to let a girl know they're right and you're wrong and that you're more than sorry your ex girlfriend called you to tell you she was engaged. The last time I had talked to Ellie was fourteen months ago (bar today), and she told me that she couldn't stand coming second to something that wouldn't matter when I was forty and broke. A fight ensued, I told her she wasn't who I wanted anymore and having the temper she did, a table was overturned, a necklace I'd given her for her birthday was broken and I was told to never talk to her, look at her, or search her on Facebook again. Then, she decided to call me to rub it in my face that I was "missing out" on her, as she was engaged to a guy I'd never heard of and didn't care about. He was in a band too. Yawn.

"So she did call? Did you go meet her, and have sex in a motel room and think I'd be stupid enough not to figure it out?" Petra's shrill voice was getting louder and louder with every syllable. This shocked me though, those words shocked me.

"What?" I asked, almost disbelieving of waht she'd just asked of me. "Are you acutally kidding?" Her face told me that she wasn't. I was losing my temper, real bad. "Do you seriously think that's what happened? Oh my God, Petra. For a smart girl, you sure are stupid sometimes. That's not why she called."

Before I could tell her why, she cut in. "Yeah, well why did she? What was so important that it couldn't wait another fourteen months. I knew you weren't over her... I knew it. I don't even know why I thought I could have made this work..." She was pacing now. I hated the pacing. It drove me mad. I reached her in two quick strides, grabbing her shoulders firmly in my hands. They were so small, delicate. She was a small girl, but her legs were out of this world. She wore heels constantly, to make her appear taller. When she did, those legs went on for days. I slid my hands down her arms, reaching for her hands. She pulled them away, but her bashful downwards look meant she was pleased at the gesture. I somehow forgot I was angry, just at her tiny little nod of the head.

"Petra... Baby girl, I would never do that. Not to you, or anyone else. Never. She rang me to tell me she was engaged. Just to rub it in my face about what I'm supposed to be missing. And you know what? The whole time, I thought to myself, if this was Petra ringing, it'd feel like I'd been stabbed." Every part I said got truer and truer as the sentences formed.

Petra's red, red, red hair now hung loosely from her bent head. She muttered something that sounded like, "What a dumb bitch." I laughed at this, her quiet derogatory remark. She began to tug at her Prada waistcoat, God knows I'll never forget they day I told her it looked nice. She told me everything about it, the $2,439 jacket that was her pride and joy. What some people feel for children, Petra felt for this waistcoat.

"She is a dumb bitch. I don't know why she'd think I'd care. I have this smart and pretty and wonderful girl standing right in front of me. And I got no idea what the hell she sees in me, but I'm the luckiest guy in the world. You make me feel like shit sometimes, but I love you." She began to smile, the kind of smile where you're wrapped around her finger in 0.01 of a second.

"You're a fag, you know that, Kennedy Brock? Like, you're a homo." Petra was looking at me now, and I just smiled, wrapping my arm around her shoulders and pulling her into my chest.

"I can't be," I sad, inching closer to her lips with my own. She cocked an eyebrow, her fake skepticism loosely written on her face.

"Really? Why's that?" Petra's breath met my own, we were so close now. I wasn't about to kiss her just yet, or answer her for that matter. She pulled back a little bit upon my silent pause, at which I was grinning at her the whole time. "Tell me!"

"Because you're everything I ask for." I whispered, closing the gap between us in one swift motion. Our lips met, her soft, full ones tasted like cherries from the lip balm she was wearing and I could smell her hair as I breathed. She didn't like holding hands, she colour co-ordinated her moods and clothes, she always sang along to Prince when she listened to him on her iPod and our fights ended up with us in bed. She wrote me love notes on the mirror in her eyeliner when she left the bathroom after having a shower. She hated half the songs my band had and she made me happy. I was so in love with her, she'd inspired songs. She's everything I ask for, and just a little bit more.